


to all the boys Stefon’s banged before

by butterscotch (finedae)



Category: Saturday Night Live
Genre: Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Or does he, Past Relationship(s), Unresolved Sexual Tension, butterscotch is self indulgent, stefon gets some
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 05:51:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finedae/pseuds/butterscotch
Summary: Stefon goes to the hottest event in LA: The Emmys.





	to all the boys Stefon’s banged before

**Author's Note:**

> seeing Bill and John interacting made me Feel Things and all the snl ppl so i just Had To write this.
> 
> enjoy this fashionably late Emmy's fic!

Los Angeles’ hottest night is the Emmys. It has everything Stefon _hates_. Camera 2 panning for celebrity reactions three seconds too late, ageing old Hollywood male star’s last grip at fame by switching to TV, hooking up and then pretending to know each other at the next awards season, and oh, is that Will Ferrell? Probably!

The Emmys suck, but at least you can drink from your seats this time instead of waiting for the afterparties, even if you have to wear uncomfortable sponsored well fitted suits.

“Well, fancy seeing you here!” Stefon would recognise that booming 1950’s announcer voice anywhere. Shy looks like he almost fits in, in a darling periwinkle bespoke suit and matching latex gloves. He approaches Stefon with a firm handshake, a huge Yoshinoya ad plastered behind him.

Stefon hugs him, finally a familiar face that isn’t _*showbusiness*_. “My wife’s in charge of catering.” Shy lets him know proudly.

“She’s here?” is met with a wave and a “No, she hates Hollywood and its self congratulatory shiny dildo giving prizes. But she arranged the whole thing and then flew to New York, which is strange because we both live here. But I don’t question her instinct.” which makes a lot of sense to Stefon.

Shy orders an apple cider for himself and a vodka martini for Stefon and ushers him to a quieter end of the bar that isn’t so filled with cameras and very rich tourists.

“This is the best night in Hollywood...” Shy toasts, “To be an attorney. All the biggest network execs in one room, with alcohol at a workplace event, probably sweating their balls off. I love it!”

Stefon drinks to that, reminiscing of the sweeter times when a coked up Shy would bail him out for being drunk and disorderly and have his record suspiciously wiped away, and Stefon would get on his knees in a back alley to show his appreciation. Of course, Shy’s the one who prefers doing the prostration, as much as he likes winning in court. Stefon catches himself running an eye down Shy’s straight, upright posture back, his periwinkle jacket stretched across the shoulders and back. Shy notices, obviously, Stefon’s not one for subtlety.

“Would you like to come back to my room and fuck my brains out?” Shy inquires politely, and Stefon almost chokes on his drink. Stefon is reminded in this room of narcissistic self important assholes, there are still normal, same people like Shy who think just like him. They’re so similar in some regards, Stefon can almost picture them, clothes strewn across the room while the awards drone on somewhere downstairs and Stefon dabbing concealer on his hickeys while Shy rambles off about his wife’s latest vintage art catalogue, unbothered in his state of no clothing.

“Incredibly tempting, but I promised the team I’d stick around till the first quarter so they can get a reaction shot of me during the SNL reunion.” Stefon laments sadly.

“Perfectly understandable, old friend,” Shy nods, patting Stefon’s shoulder before getting off his seat, “My door is always open. _Oh my, is that Ronan Farrow?_ ”

 

Right before the ceremony begins, Stefon in his haste to escape walks into his ex-fiancé, not current husband, Anderson Cooper, in a dashing ivory cream suit and burgundy tie with tiny skulls on it, really playing up the silver fox daddy look.

“Why do I see you, an actual journalist slash celebrity, more than my celebrity journalist husband?” Stefon greets him, Anderson pulling him in a for a quick hug. For ex fiancés, they’re still on incredibly good terms thought that might have something to do with Andy Cohen knowing how to dissolve far more intricate arguments with real housewives.

Anderson chuckles, being annoyingly handsome and charming. Looking down at Stefon’s incredibly boring, sponsored Dior black suit and a bottle green Gucci snake tie, he says, “You look good. Very low-key.”

“I know, I hate it.” Stefon pouts, reverting back into a spoiled brat around Anderson. Anderson and his gentle hands which can be rough when asked and quiet dominance. He has the aura that could provoke daddy issues in the most well adjusted familial person, and when your dad was an absent David Bowie, that’s just a whole another level.

Stefon’s actually glad he found familiar faces because all the cameras and people pretending to care about his opinions on ‘fall’s newest crime shows’ can get to him and no amount of fancy, expensive booze can get him to smile through that until the pills kick in. And the SNL cast are all backstage practicing their bits because Lorne Michaels decided, ‘fuck the Emmys, I’m just gonna stick in as many of my onscreen prodigies and I don’t care if the people don’t like it’, which Stefon can respect.

“I thought the point of the Emmy’s is everyone who’s not famous enough for the Globes and Oscars get a participation trophy.” Stefon whines to Anderson about bumping into Paul Rudd in the bathrooms, who has an infinite pool of patience, huh is that how Late Night hosts do it?

Speaking of — “He got his start on TV, what’s the story with you and that delectable angel?” Andy Cohen chimes in.

“We met at one of those fancy charity for TV events, and I spit vodka in his face and then we made out,” Stefon sighs dramatically. It’s not his fault Paul Rudd has an extremely kissable face, and other parts.

“I’m sure that was a long time ago...”

“In the bathroom, 20 minutes ago,” Stefon finishes, ducking his head when a slightly dishevelled Paul Rudd walks past their table. “This is why marble countertop sinks should be for doing coke only.”

Anderson tuts his head in disapproval and and Stefon frowns at him. _“What, I’m married not monogamous!”_

In fact, Seth had kissed him at the airport and told him to stay safe and tell him all about what he gets up to when he comes back, so now Stefon has a marital obligation to follow through. All the celebrities in the room who have to workshop an effortlessly charming but relatable story to tell on late night talk shows to promote their latest whatever can relate.

“Although, for you...” Stefon implies flirtatiously, leaning forward. It’s true though, Stefon would’ve been monogamous for the first year at least because he couldn’t quite tarnish his Vanderbilt prince’s reputation as a serious journalist that godless immoral Hollywood comedy hosts can get away with, and he couldn’t deal with Wolf Blitzer being disappointed in him. Stefon almost made that decision before running away with Seth Meyers in a now-infamous event, wonder what that says about him. Literally running away from commitment.

“That ship has sailed.” Anderson smiles, and Stefon is offended. Seth and Anderson are on great terms too, they even go to the same gym together!

Before Stefon can go wrap himself around Anderson to prove him wrong, Andy gently coughs and reminds him there are literally cameras everywhere and while Seth would have a field day with the headlines of “runaway bride runs back from celebrity D.C. reporter, to D.C. reporter A.C!” Real life isn’t quite so liberal.

Stefon remains in his seat, vowing to himself to sneak his keycard in Anderson’s jacket pocket before the end of the night without being photographed, which is slightly difficult considering everyone’s currently tweeting.

The opening bit is a song mocking Hollywood’s token diversity, Stefon was actually bumped for RuPaul, but seeing all his old friends onstage — Andy, Kenan, Kate even, and when the camera pans to old SNL cast mates for reaction gifs, Stefon doesn’t have to remind himself to smile.

He didn’t, however, know the hosts were the current weekend update hosts Che and Jost. Wow, Lorne really got his hands in everything, huh. Looking at the screen and realizing he’s gonna have to watch Colin Jost for the rest of the evening (he’s easy to fluster but he kisses like a straight boy, or as straight as you get in Hollywood), the smug deadpan delivery mostly reminds Stefon just how much he prefers Seth and his team of writers. Stefon makes an internal note to skip any of the after parties with Scarlett Johansson or most of the people from the MCU, just to be on the safe side.

Stefon manages to last out till the Best Lead Actor in a Comedy Series, which goes to some fool and walks off to the catering table — keeping an eye out for latex gloves or burgundy ties or Ant Men or former and current weekend update hosts. Instead he finds old friends, like Maya, Leslie, and Tina and is woefully reminded the ladies can still out drink him. The key is to have an empty stomach so you can throw up out of the dress later. Stefon also has to go to Poehler and Jon Hamm’s Emmys Losers afterparty, and knowing his husband is currently back home in New York doing a show telling the American people how the American president fucked up, yet again, Stefon makes sure to take pictures with all their friends just to rub it in. It's actually so nice how old friends in showbusiness can just expect their other friends to hook them up with gigs, and then they all congregate in awards season like moths to a crippling opioid addiction, it's actually kind of fun. They should do this every year. Wait, they do.

Larry David almost has cardiac arrest, some popstars start fighting and someone hands Stefon a very expensive bottle of olive oil. The Emmys are _so fucking boring._

 

The next morning, whether there’s a handsome man in various states of clothes on Stefon’s bed or not, Stefon wakes up mostly excited to Seth’s good morning text, and that he’s sent a car to pick him up from the airport.

Stefon gets dressed, may or may not have kissed his last night’s stand goodbye and watch how all the other hungover celebrities got on the 405 to hide their drive of shame while their agents give them a pep talk and obsessively checking the best dressed list, while going to pick up a Jamba Juice and thinks  _Seth Meyers could also probably get anyone here, but he’d rather have m.e._

**Author's Note:**

> just to be clear, no infidelity. those who aren't monogamous in the fic are happily informed poly!


End file.
